The Office
by Samayel
Summary: Harry Potter's life after the war has been less than interesting, until an accidental meeting with Draco Malfoy in a Muggle pub touches off a change in the way he looks at his life. HD PreSlash, Language


DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write…are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.

Author's Note: This fic is dedicated to Laura, with my thanks for the many kind reviews. Enjoy!

The Office…by Samayel

Harry James Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, grew up. That alone was something of a miracle, considering how close he'd come to death in just a few short years between his eleventh and eighteenth birthdays. Nonetheless, he'd survived the most terrible war the wizarding world had ever seen, and he'd put Voldemort down once and for all. And then he grew up.

It was surprising, how quickly those years had passed. It was also surprising how much he missed those days at Hogwarts. By comparison, the last fifteen years of his life had been spectacularly dull. He'd become an Auror after he'd finished his NEWT examinations, which had been delayed by the closing of Hogwarts during the half year of the Great War. It had been great at first. Dark wizards on the run every which way, mayhem in the streets, desperate battles while the Muggle world slept unawares. Great fun. Action, adventure, danger and excitement, just like in school. Despite the terrible losses, Harry had taken a fierce, proud joy in fighting for a safer world for himself and others. And then they won.

The last Dark wizards were captured, peace spread like wildfire, and Harry had been at a loss for what to do. So he got married. The wizarding world was giddy with relief over the outcome of the war, and in that celebratory atmosphere, Harry had proposed to Ginny Weasley. She accepted enthusiastically, and then Harry was a husband. Not long after that, he became a father…twice. He had a job he loved, a beautiful wife, and two children that were adored by all. Perfect. For about four years. Then his entire life fell apart in front of him.

They really had been too young. Married at nineteen, and a father at twenty and twenty-two. The Auror service barely needed combat trained personnel anymore, and Harry had been shunted to the areas that most needed help. Routine investigations for minor wizarding crimes and the occasional cover-up from Muggle authorities. He was good at it, but it was dull as death, if not more so. He'd nearly died once during the war, hanging on the brink of life, and he was quite certain that it had been a great deal more interesting than paperwork. He came home each night to crying infants and a wife who resented his career while she was trapped at home with children that needed feeding and changing and constant observation. Each night was a routine of passing children back and forth, fixing meals for small ones and grown ups alike, changing diapers by the handful and rocking colicky babies to sleep until the wee hours of the morning…only to rise again and do it the next day.

When Ginny threw him out, it had almost been a relief. Whatever had been bright and cheery and good between them had died slowly, smothered by small resentments and angry words. He still saw his children when he could, and she didn't begrudge him that precious time with Jamie or Lily, especially since he had never once shirked his responsibilities and had always made certain that their needs were well cared for. Ginny was happier when she didn't have to actually live with Harry, and without the expectations of a husband on him, they actually got along fairly well.

The years had flown by since then, and Harry did his job well, because he had always thought that it was what he ought to do, but there was no joy in his life, beyond the tiny snatched moments of happiness when he saw his children. Just an office where piles of paperwork waited to be dealt with, and an apartment where beer bottles and dirty clothes and dishes piled up and waited to be dealt with. The kids were both at Hogwarts now, and he wouldn't see them until the hols came around again. This was the hardest time of the year. Months to go before he'd see his only legacy. He could pat himself on the back and say he saved the world…and maybe call that a legacy, but to Harry's mind, the only real accomplishment in his life had been making two wonderful children, and not seeing them was torture.

He hadn't really dated much since then. There had been a few very nice women, but Harry supposed that, in his heart of hearts, he wasn't really comfortable sharing himself and his private life with any of them. He'd let each relationship wither on the vine, rather than face the daunting prospect of intimacy he didn't really want or feel comfortable with. He was still a fit looking bloke, even past thirty, with hair that finally behaved reasonably well, glasses that were more stylish than his old ones from school, and he'd even grown more comfortable in a suit and work robes than his gawky, teenaged self had ever been. It wasn't that he couldn't attract someone, it was just more effort than the eventual trouble would be worth. And that was that.

Fifteen years since he'd saved the world. He didn't think of himself as an alcoholic, since he didn't drink heavily in general, and almost nothing when the kids were around. He could go for days without a drop, and he almost never touched hard liquor. When he was drinking, he never caused trouble or made a nuisance of himself. The very idea of behaving terribly in public mortified him far too much for that. If he could be said to drink too much, it only happened at times like this, when the children were away at school, and the pathetic emptiness and futility of his life and work wore on him most.

He even had a favorite pub, where he was well known and liked, and could enjoy a couple of pints after work, or a little more when the occasion demanded it. It was the kind of quiet place where darts were thrown, pints were sipped, and sometimes old songs were sung badly, but with enthusiasm. His old chums from school didn't usually go to Muggle bars, but since they knew Harry liked the place, they'd come along now and again.

He'd been attracted to the place since he first saw the ancient sign hanging in front. A black dog and white stag, on the run and looking sharp. It had reminded him of his father and Sirius, and so The Hound and Hind had become his home away from home, and a place to escape his troubles for a few hours at a time.

It was on days like this, pounding his way through case file after case file, filling out meaningless reports in triplicate, that Harry most looked forward to a nice pint or two before bed.

"Oy! Harry, love! You daydreaming again?" Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin pulled Harry from his musings and back to reality. He'd been holding the same pen and staring at paper for who knew how long.

Tonks made a great section chief, and her fondness for Harry took the edge off of the slow grind of days. She forgave his occasional lapses at the office, since he really was a better than average Auror. He'd been sensational as a combat mage, but as pencil pushers went, he held his own fairly well, but wasn't quite distinguished. This had a lot to do with why he hadn't been promoted. He'd even refused one, fearing the increase in paperwork and the death of field work. Harry shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

"No. Maybe. Well, bugger all, yeah…pretty much. Can't get the kids off my mind again. You know how I hate it when they're away, Tonksy."

Tonks smiled, and her hair flashed from neon pink to neon green while she waggled her eyebrows. "Cheer up, Harry…you know they love you. I heard Jamie made the Quidditch team for Gryffindor. Not as fast as you did, but I figured you'd be proud to hear it. If you feel that off, go on home early. There's only an hour left in the day, and it's not like we're chasing down killers. Whatever you're on, it'll wait for another day if you like. Right?"

Harry sighed expansively. "Aww, thanks. I don't mind staying, but I don't mind going either. I'm not getting that much done today anyway. I think I'll write letters to owl the kids after I get home. Sure you'll be alright with me off?"

Tonks chuckled. "We'll send up a signal if we need the world saved, hero. I think we can handle this afternoon on our own. I'm off to meet Kingsley and compare notes. Have yourself a nice early weekend, Harry, you've more than earned it."

Harry tidied his desk and pulled on his trench coat and hat, then made his way back to the lobby floor of the Ministry Of Magic. He got a lot of waves hello from the staff along the way, just as he always did. In truth, it was a good enough place to work, and he'd have been happy if it had any real meaning to it, but the only thing 'exciting' at the Ministry the last few years had been the investigations surrounding a few gifted pranksters, and somehow it just didn't capture Harry's attention the way battling killers and their henchmen had.

Fall had only just begun, and London was pretty fair to look at…when the rain quit and one could see anything at all. This was such a day, and Harry tried to savor the walk to The Hound and Hind, staring at the people he saw along the way. Shoppers and business people and passers-by on the way to take the tube. A vast mill of people with lives and livelihoods, most of them probably happier than he was most of the time. It was a shame that he could think that, but at least he had a nice quiet life and a few good friends, and a pub to call his own.

The Hound and Hind was largely empty, since it wasn't quite the usual after-business hours, and Harry decided to mentally compose his letters for Jamie and Lily while he nipped at his pint. 'Oud Tom, the barman, gave a toothy grin when Harry walked in and headed for a seat at the bar.

"'Ullo there, lad. Off work early, is it? I'll 'ave yer pint up in a sec."

Harry took a seat at the bar, oblivious to the few other patrons, including the man in the seat beside the one he was taking now. His eyes were fixed firmly on the lovely foam building on the pint of Guinness that was being drawn for him by 'Oud Tom's capable hands.

"Aye. That's pretty much it, Tom. Easy day at the office, a couple of nice pints, and home early for the night I think."

"Oh, bloody hell! Potter?!"

The voice sent Harry's nerves jangling. An aristocratic drawl, tinged heavily with naked annoyance. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned slowly to the man beside him. He should have been more alert when someone in this pub actually had a martini glass in front of them. Martinis in The Hound and Hind were as rare as sun when you wanted it and rain when you needed it.

Draco Malfoy was the owner of the half-empty martini between them, and Harry's eyes went flat with irritation. Malfoy muttered something under his breath, and Harry caught enough to know that Malfoy was cursing about having been a fool to go to a Muggle bar anyway.

"I cannot believe I nipped out early for a drink, somewhere quiet looking, and you bumbled in here, Potter. Don't you have some lawbreakers to hunt down, or is business that slow these days?"

"I'm here off and on most weeks, Malfoy. This is i my /i watering hole. If you think you're slumming, piss off and go find another oasis, one where buzzards and jackals are welcomed."

"Oooo, sharp tongue, Potter. I'm finishing my martini and then I'm out of here. What…what is that i swill /i in that glass you're…you're…My God!? You drink that?"

Harry finished a long pull at his Guinness, licking the mustache of foam off of his lip with a smile.

"It's called Guinness, you poncy bastard, and don't blaspheme against it. It's beer. Good beer. It'll put hair on your chest, which in your case is a miracle worthy of canonizing a beer for sainthood."

Malfoy was a funny story, if you liked lousy punch lines. He'd made it through the war in a safe house with Snape, made it through the trials at the Ministry after the war was over, finally entered into an arranged marriage with Pansy Parkinson as the new Lord of Malfoy Manor, and then lost almost everything in the ugly divorce a year later. He still had the estate, and enough wealth to maintain it, but his employment in the Ministry's Foreign Relations Offices had been made necessary to enjoy at least a little of the lifestyle he once knew. Pansy, the lawyers, and the trust fund for his young daughter had devoured the rest of the famous Malfoy fortune. Now the annoying prat was a glorified paper pusher just like Harry. They didn't meet often, but when they did, the barbs of their childhood rivalry always reemerged. Draco's near total inability to grow facial hair had always been a favorite target of Harry's jibes, especially since, personally, he hated having to shave everyday, and his own beard was dark enough to show fast if he didn't make it home before dark.

"Find some new material, Potter. You've been singing that tune too long for me to care. Although, since it annoys you, this bar suddenly seems oh-so comfortable. I may have to take up drinking here regularly. As for your precious 'beer', I find it hard to respect a beverage you nearly have to chew."

"That's because you're a heathen and a Philistine, Malfoy. Guinness! It's not just a beverage, it's a meal! Foreign Office doing well for you? Everyone expected great things from you. After all, you blend in well with the foreign. You're a bit weird to most of us, hard to get along with, and generally a bit unpleasant in a snide, condescending sort of way."

"Never thought you for a racist, Potter. Then again, you are an Au-I mean a cop. The tinier the mind, the more the need to break everything down to bite-size little pieces you can understand. And it's going fine. I just got back from France and Belgium. The wine's over-rated. Ever since they grafted in those California vines it just hasn't been the same. Not that your palate would know the difference between waste water and brandy…and small wonder, poisoning it with that drek!"

'Oud Tom moved back to their end of the bar, scowling at the tone of the new patron.

"'E givin' ya trouble, 'Arry? No room for it 'ere, fancy! Don't like it? Move on!"

Draco sneered at Harry, hating that he was outnumbered in opinion and couldn't draw wands in the Muggle world. A nice, fat hex would have been fun about now, but with Muggles about, he had to stay off the radar for tonight. Harry took another gulp of his beer and shrugged to Tom.

"Not really, mate. No trouble, just an old school rival. We always talk like this. He can have a round on me if he wants."

Tom moved off, and Draco was staring at him with a look of complete confusion. He spoke warily.

"Decent of you, Potter. What brought on this sudden largesse?"

"Frankly, arguing with you is the most interesting thing I've done all day. I suppose that's worth a martini."

"Hmmph. I suppose. I could do with one more before I head on out. I left early today after a bloody awful debriefing session. Endless prating questions about minutia and trade stipulations. Another hour of that and I'd have been in Azkaban for hexing my section head's gob shut. And a martini is still a martini, no matter where you find it. Thus, here we are."

Harry snorted with amusement. "Meetings and paperwork. That's what we've been reduced to. Do you ever miss the days when life and death were on the line?"

Draco looked at Harry with complete incredulity. "My gods, you're incurably Gryffindor. I hated every fucking minute of that shite with the white-hot passion of supernova. Don't tell me you pine away for the 'good old days' of near death experiences and all that. I mean, I always thought you were daft, but I didn't think you were that daft!"

Harry snorted with frustration. "Come on! You can't seriously tell me that you find shuffling papers and what not more interesting than Hogwarts and the war. I'm not saying it was easy, just that it sure wasn't dull. We didn't have time to worry over minutia when we were scrambling for our lives. Every breath we took was a miracle of its own, because we were lucky to be able to take it! Sure it was ugly…but we were really, really alive. Tell me you don't miss that!"

Draco stared piercingly at him while Harry sipped his beer again, then downed the rest of his martini in a single gulp.

"Not…one…fucking…bit. Maybe it was a grand adventure for you, but it was sheer fucking hell for me. Has your life since then been so shitty that you look back at all that with envy? It hasn't been all tea and crumpets for me either, but those times gave me a nice benchmark for 'fucking horrible', and everything since then has felt like a fucking cakewalk. How bad can life be for 'The Boy Who Just Wouldn't Snuff It', that you can ask me with a straight face if I miss those days?"

Harry blinked, floored by Draco's answer. He set his beer down and fumbled with his napkin a moment.

"I miss my kids. They're in school now. I won't see their faces 'til the hols come 'round again. You're right, I guess. It was awful…then…but…it wasn't anything a few spells and a bit of nerve couldn't solve. I can't do a fucking thing about this. Can't Petrify it, can't Obliviate it, can't Stun it. It just is. If I miss anything…I guess it's having problems I could solve, even if they nearly killed me. What does a fellow do about things like this?"

Draco hadn't the faintest idea what to say to that. There was a painful and pregnant silence while he stared at the bar and took a sip from the new martini Potter had just bought him. His voice was hushed and faintly distracted when he spoke up.

"I haven't seen my daughter in four years. Pansy sends her to a small private academy in Switzerland, and then drags her off on holiday journeys around the world. I don't even think she likes having Cissy…she just likes knowing that she's far away from me."

Draco's divorce had been nearly as high profile as Harry's, with Pansy splashed across the front pages of i The Prophet /i every other day for weeks. At least Ginny had been amicable about their split. The things Pansy had said to the press were only barely fit for print. Other than what the papers had reported then, Harry hadn't known anything about Draco's home life. It was sobering to think of Draco Malfoy, Prat Extraordinaire, as a fellow divorcee who missed his child desperately.

"Fuck all. Sorry about that, Malfoy. If you quote me on it in public, I'll lie like a dog, but for once, I know exactly how you feel. I wouldn't wish that…"

"…On your worst enemy? Hah. Neither would I. That, my dear Mr. Potter, is why the martini was invented. The olive was thrown in later to distract people from the hidden magnificence that is gin and vermouth. As long as we're breaking confidences, whatever happened between you and the Weaselette? You two always looked like a model couple. Match made in the stars and all that. If you don't mind my asking, of course."

The realization that he didn't really mind telling it to Draco Malfoy was surprising, but to be honest, it was just good to talk about it for once. After all, Ron was still a good mate and all, but what you tell a man about his baby sister? Harry savored his Guinness and gave a rueful smirk.

"There isn't that much to tell. Got married too young, had kids before we were ready, and didn't really know each other that well. She hated me working as an Auror and leaving her alone with the kids half the day and some nights, back when there were still a few real jobs to do. By the time I knew what was wrong, it was too late to fix it. She's good enough about letting me see Jamie and Lily, and it isn't like I'm not still fond of her, but we're better off this way. I just hate the months when they're at Hogwarts and I have to wait for the holidays to see them again. What about you and Pansy?"

Draco snorted and gave a withering glance at nothing in particular, gulping his martini before touching that topic.

"You got off light! We were betrothed before we were old enough to know what the word meant. Would've been a great deal for her…if the Dark Lord hadn't reared his ugly head and ruined our social standing. As it was, she was magically bound to celibacy until we were married and had a child. I'm fairly sure she was resentful as hell once we were married, and like a good little Slytherin girl she planned every step. Once she'd secured the terms of our marriage contract and provided a child, she 'sowed her wild oats' with joyous abandon. Two months after Cissy was born she was jumping on every dick that wasn't mine, but I was too blind to see it until after the fact. By the time she served me papers, she'd already prepped her case for the settlement months in advance. She played the 'He's as evil as his father once was…he has the Mark…save me!' card and won hands down. I'm lucky to still have the Manor and a few Galleons left to rub together. If her lawyer had been just a little better, I'm sure she'd have custody of some of my internal organs."

"Jaysus, Malfoy. I'd no idea it was that bad. I mean, you can't trust the papers, but it sounds like what they printed would have been easier to go through than that. Oy! Tom? I need another pint…and stand this man another round on me."

"I'll take that martini. I find it disturbing enough that we both named our children for our parents. Funny. I've never really talked about Pansy or Cissy with anyone much. Hadn't really occurred to me that you might be pleasant to be around. You're a bit of alright, Potter, when it comes right down to it. Just…don't plan on quoting me on that, understood? Wouldn't do to let a fine, old rivalry wither on the vine, as it were. Cheers."

"Slainte! And you're welcome."

And so it went. Harry hadn't any intention of staying past his second pint. He also hadn't any intention of singing 'The Broad Majestic Shannon'…badly, or 'Wild Rover', or any one of half a dozen other pub crawl classics that were occasionally butchered at The Hound and Hind. He sang those, and more surprisingly, so did Malfoy, albeit only the choruses and those parts that were easy to guess at or mumble through. As it turned out, with a sufficient number of drinks, any song sounded good to the singer, even if he didn't really remember the words…or the tune…or even a key. That didn't stop either of them.

Like any proper pub night, it led inevitably to stumbling out the door into the night, uncertain of what to do with the rest of the evening.

"S' bollocks! I c'n App-app…prate home, Potty!"

"Shhh! You're bloody pissed! Y-you couldn' Apparate from…from here to the other side a the street w'out leavin' behind your head!"

"Deter…deterrent…defoliant…dis…distraction. No…thass not it. Wass it again? Depilatory…dependency…des…destitution? Bugger all! 'Ow's a bloke get a cab to Wiltshire this late?"

"You're daft, Malfoy! A cab? From London to sodding Wiltshire? You'd be home in time to…to turn round an' show up for work next week. Be better off on th' Knight Bus!"

Draco Malfoy raised his head imperiously, then staggered a bit when the shift of position spoiled his balance.

"No Malfoy has ev'r, ev'r, EV'R…lowered…themselves t' crude con…confer…conveyance! I'd sooner splinch!"

Harry clapped a hand onto Malfoy's shoulder and tripped his Portkey for home, ignoring the affronted look he got when Draco realized what had just happened. Luckily, the disorientation took the edge off of Draco's outrage, but that was only because two brains under the influence of alcohol were poorly suited for Portkey travel. They hit the floor of Harry's apartment almost as one, and the last thing Harry could remember was the vague look of irritation on Draco's face as he passed out just a foot away.

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Sunlight. Very bright, skull-stabbing, eye-assaulting sunlight. Pain. Not the rather annoying, 'give me two aspirin' kind of pain, but rather the 'how long do I have to live' kind of pain. Harry tried to move his arm to shade his eyes, but found that it was paralyzed. Panic struck a second later, and he flicked a bitter eye open, only to realize that he wasn't paralyzed, just hampered by the man who was curled against him, sleeping on top of his arm.

The blond man. The Draco Malfoy blond man. Fully clothed, thank all the gods, but still curled in Harry's arm, or rather on Harry's arm, and sleeping peacefully enough considering that they were on the floor of Harry's living room.

"Malfoy. Wake up. Gerroff!"

It came out more of a muted croak than Harry had meant, and Malfoy's only acknowledgement was to roll closer and flop an arm over Harry's chest. Draco's face was now about an inch from Harry's, and the man was mumbling in his sleep.

"F-five minutes. Five more, love. Thas all."

This was not the lazy Saturday morning Harry had envisioned before leaving the office. His arm had lost all feeling, his head felt like a grenade had gone off in his skull, and his stomach was more than a little upset as well. He remembered being at a pub with Malfoy…but hadn't any idea why the bastard was here…or why they were both on the floor in their clothes. And being cuddled by a barely conscious Draco Malfoy was NOT comforting in the slightest.

"Malfoy. I'm counting to five, and then I'm shoving your arse off of me! One. Two. Thr-mmph!"

Harry's count was interrupted by the shift of Malfoy's head and a mouth that suddenly covered his own. Given that Malfoy was scarcely conscious, and that his eyes were closed, it was a fairly adept kiss, and Harry was paralyzed by stark and absolute horror and surprise while his upper and lower lips was gently teased and sucked.

Then Malfoy's chin brushed against stubble, and bloodshot gray eyes snapped open like shutters.

There was a moment of dizzying silence while they stared at each other, breath stopped in their lungs, eyes locked on each other as the reality of the situation broke free of their confusion and swamped them.

Slowly, and with an admirable degree of calm, Draco cleared his throat and moved away, blushing in a way that stripped a decade off of his appearance.

"Well. Oops. Martinis, right? Too many martinis. Didn't happen. No one saw it. Heh. Could've happened to anyone. Right? Now where the bloody, buggery hell am I? And why are you even here? What in the blazes am I doing in last night's clothes on the floor of…of…Sweet Merlin! Do you live in this dump, Potter?"

Harry growled. "Just my luck…I get the hangover, and you're chatty Mr. Kisses first thing in the morning after a bender. Yes I live here, and you don't! I don't remember how you got here, so hush up until I get some coffee started. My head is killing me."

"And your décor is killing me! It looks like someone spliced the Gryffindor commons into a refuse bin. Where's the loo? I should be afraid to ask, given the state of the rest of the place, but I have to spell my face off and scrub the memory of you off of it."

Harry rolled to his feet and pointed at the door down the hall, then limped toward the kitchen.

_'I know he drank more than I did. And it was gin, too. How the hell is he so cheery? Not fair. Not bloody fair. God, this is embarrassing. Just be nice long enough to make sure he'll keep this little story to himself, then boot his ass to the curb. Coffee. Coffee now.'_

The sound of water running from the bathroom made Harry's bladder tense while he let the pot brew. The articles from Draco's divorce came back to him as he tapped his foot in the kitchen, waiting for enough to drip for at least small cup. Pansy had said a lot of terrible things about Draco, and though Harry had taken none of it seriously then, the accusations about Draco being a poofter suddenly came back to him. That added a new niggling thread of panic to the 'cat's cradle' of irritation that already engulfed him. Plus, the bastard was taking all day in that loo while Harry was almost dancing in kitchen.

The door to bathroom finally opened, and Malfoy sauntered out, looking relieved and calm, while Harry dashed passed him with a brusque and urgent 'excuse me' on the way in. Harry cursed his still half paralyzed arm while he fumbled with his fly, and unleashed a pent up river of recycled beer, rolling his eyes back with relief, then staggered to the cabinet above the sink and fumbled with the aspirin. Two pills and a shot of water later, he made his way out and back to the kitchen, just in time to see Draco fill his cup with all of the available coffee and promptly sip it. While Malfoy made a face at the stuff, Harry stifled complete outrage over the arrogant prig that had invaded his home.

"Ugh! Coffee is an acquired taste. I acquired it in Europe. Those people know coffee. This is not coffee. This is what happens when you allow people to attach the word coffee to any pathetic legume that crosses their path. Still, I shouldn't be surprised. Given the décor and the Guinness, bad taste in coffee seems like a small crime by comparison."

"Then give it here, Ferret-face! I've got a hangover from hell and I wanted coffee…that's why I brewed it, and you're drinking it all up while you bitch about it. Give it here!"

Draco handed the cup over with a look of distaste and a sneer that was familiar from many years of the same.

"Where did the fairly decent chap from last night go? You're a right bastard in the morning, Potter. I've certainly tried to be reasonable about all of this, but you're being a perfect arse about it all. It's not like anything inappropriate happened."

"I am not! I-hey! What do you call inappropriate? I don't know what you're doing here, but you all but molested me in my sleep, then tried to snog me when I woke up and wanted you off of me! I'm the one being reasonable! You haven't been hexed into bits yet, so stop complaining before my head explodes."

Draco looked horrified and affronted. "I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT MOLEST YOU! I'm quite sure you shoved that arm under me on purpose. And it was cold! You probably turned the heat off last night in some convoluted, passive/aggressive effort to get me close to you for who knows what unsavory purposes!"

Harry's jaw dropped in shock. The unbelievable nerve of the git! To blame that on Harry through logic only a Slytherin or a savant could follow? Harry felt his fist balling up…and that was when the restored circulation finally reached his fingers.

"ARGH!!! Pins and needles!!! AH…ah…ah…my arm! My hand!!"

Harry capered about a little bit, shaking his free hand to work out the painfully returning sensation, and promptly spilled hot coffee onto his shirt, scalding himself and dropping the cup onto the bridge of his foot. It was while he balancing on one foot and pulling his soaked and hot shirt away from his skin that he slid on the spilled coffee and banged his head on the corner of the table. The last thing that echoed in his mind was a blurry image of Draco, looking down with a frown and a wand in his hand, muttering about 'hopeless Gryffindors'. His life flashed in front of his eyes. How sad that so little of it had been interesting, and doubly sad that it was probably ending in his kitchen, while an ex-Death Eater shook his head with disgust at the sorry spectacle of his demise. It could have been worse. It could have happened at the office.

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Harry woke some time later. He was in his own bed, his clothes were clean, the headache, scalding, sore foot and tingling arm had been dealt with, and where there should have a large bump on his noggin there was absolutely nothing. Actually, he felt remarkable good. There was no trace of the hangover left in his system. Harry sat up on his cleanly made bed.

Wait.

His bed was never cleanly made. His bedroom was downright tidy, and he hadn't cleaned that in more than a week either. His dirty clothes were cleaned, folded and neatly tucked into the proper drawers. There were no bottles or other rubbish about, and as he moved into the hall he could see that the entire apartment had received the same treatment. The only thing out of place in the kitchen was the plate of breakfast that had been left behind with a Warming Charm on it to keep it fresh. Tucked beneath the plate was a small envelope.

Harry sniffed the plate of breakfast. Not only was it probably not poisoned, it looked and smelled delicious. He opened the envelope with caution, checking first to ensure it wasn't trapped, but cringed inwardly when he realized that, had anyone wanted him dead, he wouldn't have lasted through this morning. Harry savored every bite of the breakfast while he scanned the letter.

_'Potter,_

_As much as it pains me to admit this, the portions of last night that weren't drowned in a tide of gin and vermouth were actually quite nice. Thank you for a pleasant evening's company._

_That having been said, you are an embarrassment to yourself, and I contemplated putting you out of your own misery this morning. I simply cannot believe a lout like you saved the world._

_You're supposed to be a hero, for Merlin's sake! Get a grip on yourself! I had my elves over to neaten the place up a bit while I cleaned you up and dealt with a rather ugly gash on your scalp._

_Can't have you dying on my watch, can I? I could just see the papers. Ex-Death Eater Butchers Boy Who Lived In Bizarre Household Coffee Killing. I'm sure they'd see through my cunning wiles and work out a way in which I was responsible for your untimely death by pratfall._

_Either way, I won't be traipsing back through to take care of you, so at least take some care of yourself! Do try not to let the rest of the world in on the pathetic display I've been subjected to._

_Yours, Draco Malfoy_

Draco's glib, snide and yet distracted tone almost oozed off the page, and Harry huffed indignantly while he devoured the plate of food. It was actually better than any breakfast he'd had in his own home in years. Truth be told, Malfoy, prat that he was, had a point. Several of them, actually. Well, bugger it all, maybe the bastard was spot on on every count…except the décor. Harry rather liked Gryffindor colors. That was nothing but pure prejudice on Malfoy's part.

For a prat, Malfoy had done right by Harry when he could have just skipped out or shipped Harry off to St. Mungo's with a note taped to his chest saying 'Please Heal This Idiot'. Given their long rivalry, he would have expected anything but waking up cleaned and healed with breakfast waiting. Despite the sharp tongue, he knew he owed Draco a favor, or at least a proper thank you sometime soon. In the meantime, he had letters to write to his children.

Harry stood up from the table and went to drop the plate and cutlery off in the sink for later. He was two steps away when he looked back. For later. His entire life had become 'for later'. If it hadn't been for a timely intervention, he'd probably be waking up bleeding, scalded, hungry and miserable on a filthy kitchen floor. The sobering knowledge that, had anyone found him like that, they would have been horrified that a man who once saved the world appeared to care so little about his own life.

These last few years had been the hardest, with one and then both the children at Hogwarts more and more, but that was no excuse for what he'd let himself become. Odd that, of all the people in the world, Draco Malfoy would be the one to prod Harry into action.

Harry picked up the small sponge and rinsed the dish clean, the placed it in the washer along with the cutlery. He wiped up the few crumbs he'd left on table, and placed the sponge back where it had been resting. The kitchen looked as good as it had when he walked in, and it had only taken a minute. It was only a small start, but it was symbolic of something a little more significant; a shift of perspective, or a change of heart. Harry was finished with just getting by, and it was past time for that.

He wrote letters for his son and daughter, then a few more for Ron, Hermione and some other old friends. He didn't mention this morning's fiasco, but it dominated his mind all afternoon. He was still laboring over how to start a letter of thanks to Malfoy when a knock was heard at the door.

Finding Draco on his doorstep was still a surprise, even after the other surprises he'd had today.

"Well? Don't be a complete sod. Invite me in."

Harry's sense of gratitude was already being tested, but he opened the door and shook his head a little.

"Come in, already. Didn't think you'd need an engraved invitation after this morning. I was about to owl you a thank you. I suppose thanking you in person would do just as well."

Malfoy smirked genially enough. "I suppose it would, but I didn't really come for that. I just felt like making sure you came conscious all right. Wouldn't want anyone calling me shoddy at spells for healing, would I?"

Harry nodded, then made for the pot of coffee in the kitchen. "I'll assume you'll pass on the coffee, but I could use some. Grab a seat in the kitchen. You can stand watch and make sure I don't maim myself or burn the place down while pour a cuppa, okay?"

Malfoy's snicker was as genuine as his smile. "Really, Harry. This morning was a bit of a farce, but upon reflection, it wasn't so awful. If you're feeling a bit less inclined to abuse a guest verbally, you could repay my small kindness by taking me to a decent dinner somewhere. Just nice to get out once and a while, and you really were good company last night. If you rule out this morning's chaos, I had a wonderful time last night, and sad to say, my life has been sorely lacking in them for too long."

There was a bluntness and honesty about Draco's statement that tugged at Harry's mind. It was a little nerve wracking to imagine an honest Draco Malfoy, and that was stretching his imagination a bit as it was. It struck Harry at that moment that, just perhaps, he wasn't the only one looking at changing the way he'd been living his life.

"You know, that's not a bad idea. Not at all. Malfoy…can I ask you something? No pretense, just a simple question?"

Draco took his seat and made himself comfortable, steepling his hands and resting his chin on the fingertips. "Be my guest."

Harry leaned back against the counter and sipped his coffee. "Why? This morning…was very good of you. Why?"

Draco sniffed as if slightly affronted, then rolled his eyes. "I'd complain about being perceived as suspect in my intentions, but with the Mark on my arm that would be a bit passé. If you must know…I had some thoughts about that myself today. I wasn't sure at first, but I think I've pinned it down. I haven't spoken to anyone about Pansy or my daughter in the last decade. I've never sung songs in pubs. I'm 33 years old and I live alone with a pack of house-elves. I rarely go out for more than a quick drink, and, if you don't count arguing with foreign dignitaries all week, there hasn't been one noteworthy event in my life in more than ten years. For some reason, you're surprisingly easy to talk to, and I never expected that. Last night…I discovered that I rather miss having a social life, and if you were decent enough to make me realize that, I can be decent enough to make sure you don't snuff it over a cuppa in your own kitchen. I'm tired of not saying what I mean, so in the spirit of last night, I'm just saying what I think. It's really up to you to let me know if it works for me or if I should discard the notion entirely."

Harry kept a nervous grip on the cup in his hand, more than a little taken aback by that much honesty while he was sober.

"Malfoy…"

"Draco. Please."

"Draco…there were things…Pansy said about you…in the papers back then."

Draco bristled, obviously uncomfortable, but he answered just the same.

"I'm not here for that, if that's what you're wondering. This morning was an accident. Nothing more. What I'd like is some company…for dinner…unless that bothers you, in which case I'll just be on my way."

Harry couldn't think of what to say. He let the silence hang too long. Draco pushed back the chair and stood up, suddenly pinched and terse.

"Right. I…I should just go. See you at the office sometime, Potter."

Draco was halfway to the door before Harry had his wits back about him.

"Do you like Indian cuisine? I ought to grab my coat, but I know where you can get Chicken Vindaloo that will make it hard to believe you're still in England."

Draco paused by the door, looking back with a smirk that was patently covering relief.

"Now that sounds like something to look forward to. Lets, shall we?"

Harry grabbed his coat and opened the door, ushering the two of them into the street. There was nothing predictable about this day. Everything seemed upside down, and the calm, rote predictability of his office seemed far away. When he thought about it, that just seemed a little more like the way things ought to be.

Two gentlemen of distinction strolled through London, feet somewhat unsteadily placed upon the road to unknown adventure. There was no telling where it might take them…and they didn't really care. At least it wasn't the office.

FIN!


End file.
